Disclaimer: Tolkien's the genius, not me.
He saw her first by moonlight, all silver and ebony, gleaming with the light of stars in her eyes as flowers blossomed at her feet, their perfume mingling with the sweet scent of wild roses in her hair. And when she smiled he forgot everything else, all his long travels and cares and bloodstained grief.
"Tinúviel!" he cried, for her voice was sweet as a nightingale's, but she disappeared, away through the trees, and he was left alone in the darkness again. When she was gone even the sun seemed dimmed.
So he stumbled on, searching for his enchanting Tinúviel.